


Merge

by Gemmiel



Series: Road Signs [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Grace - Freeform, Grace Sex, M/M, porn without porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is curious about how angels have sex. Castiel shows him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merge

**Author's Note:**

> No particular time setting for this fic; Castiel is still an angel, and he isn't getting along too well with Heaven. There is no actual smut in this fic, but plenty of mind smut. I marked it "mature" because it's not truly explicit, but it's nevertheless sexy... porn without porn, if you will.

Angels don’t have sex.

Dean figured that out long before Castiel told him. Angels aren’t people, after all. Well… not human people. Dean doesn’t doubt that Cas is a person. But he's a different sort of person, one whose thought processes aren’t constantly derailed by the sexual images and needs and urges that plague most humans. 

_They’re junkless,_ he’s said more than once, scornfully. But it’s not true, not exactly. Cas is inhabiting Jimmy Novak’s now-vacated body, and as such, he has all the parts of a human, including… junk. But it’s more than clear that he has no intention of using it. Ever.

“How ‘bout her?” Dean asks, a bit blearily. He and Cas are sitting in a bar after a successful werewolf hunt, and Dean has already downed several bottles of beer. Sam’s gone off for an evening of fun with a very pretty redheaded hunter they met on the job. Right now, Dean is waving vaguely in the direction of their bartender, who is blonde and blue-eyed and nicely curved in all the right places.

Cas looks in the indicated direction, and cocks his head contemplatively, in that birdlike way he has.

“She is pretty by human standards,” he admits. “But I have no particular interest in human sex, Dean. To me it just looks… silly.”

“S’not silly,” Dean informs him. He thinks about what sex actually looks like, two people grinding their hips together frantically, making ridiculous noises, their faces contorting in all sorts of strange ways, fluids dripping and spurting all over the place, and he shrugs. “Okay, maybe it is silly, sorta. Still. It’s fun. Feels good. You oughta try it.”

“I simply do not feel the need.”

That figures. The being that is Cas has taken over a human vessel, but somehow he is able to suppress all its normal human appetites, like hunger. If he never gets thirsty or hungry or sleepy, it would figure that he doesn’t feel any sort of need for sex, either. Which makes Dean wonder why angels use vessels in the first place. If you were going to play human for a while, why wouldn’t you go ahead and experience cheeseburgers, or whiskey, or sex?

“So angels never fuck?”

Cas frowns his disapproval of the vulgar word. “Angels do not have bodies as you would conceive of them,” he says with lofty dignity. “In my natural state, I am a celestial waveform. Celestial waveforms do not… fuck.”

“Well, what do they do?” Dean is drunkenly persistent. “Say you’re wandering through Heaven and you come across a really pretty girl waveform, what happens?”

Cas huffs in annoyance, as if Dean’s questions are getting on his nonexistent nerves. “First of all, there are no girl angels, and I am not a male in my natural form, either. Angels are genderless. Second of all, I do not judge other angels by physical appearance, but by their grace.”

“Okay. Fine. So you meet someone with really hot grace. What do y’do?”

“If I were truly drawn to such an entity,” Cas says reluctantly, “then we might... share our grace.”

“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.” Dean puts his bottle down with a thud, and looks at the angel with interest. “Is that like sex? Does it feel good?”

“I should not even be discussing this with you,” Cas mutters.

“Come on, dude. You know all about humans, and I don’t know squat about angels. It’s only fair to answer the question. What’s this grace sharing thing like?”

“It is…” Cas seems to be having trouble finding words. “It is not easy to explain in human terms. It is a… a melding. A mingling of essences. An ecstatic union of two merging into one.”

“So it’s fucking.”

“It is _not_ fucking!” Cas sounds annoyed. “It is much more powerful than that. More… profound.”

Dean has lifted the bottle to his lips again, and now he chokes on his beer. “Profound,” he repeats, coughing. “Like a… profound bond?”

He would swear in that moment that Cas is blushing. Maybe it’s the lighting, a reflection from the OPEN sign flashing crimson in the window. But maybe not, because Cas’ long dark lashes flutter down, concealing his bright eyes, and Cas carefully does not look in his direction. And there is nothing so fascinating on the polished surface of the bar that it demands Cas' undivided attention.

“It is,” Cas says, and stops. “Well. A touch of... Yes. When I said profound, I meant... Not precisely. Two essences. I don’t mean... Well…”

And now Dean is absolutely certain he’s blushing. He’s never seen Cas so red. 

“Dude,” he says, “you’re not making any sense. Start over.”

“Two graces,” Cas says, tersely. “They merge. That’s it, really.”

“And you said it’s… ecstatic?”

Cas is as red as ever, but he sighs. “Yes,” he says heavily, and Dean is shocked to hear longing in his voice. “It is.”

“Dude,” Dean says, staring at him. “You miss angel sex.”

Cas’ head snaps up, and he glares at the human. “It is not—"

“It totally is.” Dean grins, because Cas is blushing and discomfited and practically squirming with embarrassment, and that’s awesome. “But I don’t blame you for not wanting to get it on with angels, all things considered. They're all dicks, present company excepted. Can you do it with a human?”

Cas’ eyes go wide. “What?”

“With a human,” Dean repeats. “Like that pretty bartender. I know humans don’t have grace, but we’ve got souls, right? They can't be all _that_ different. Why don't you go charm her a little, talk her into letting you dip your nachos in her salsa?”

Cas blinks. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“I mean, can’t you go mingle your grace with her soul?”

Cas frowns, and Dean can't tell if it's because he's seriously considering the question, or repulsed by the idea. “Angels and humans are two entirely different species. Even if I wanted to tell a random stranger that I am not human, but an angel, and even if she consented, I am not certain such an effort can succeed. Grace and souls are both forms of energy, but not the same type of energy. And even if it could be done… why would I choose _her?”_

“Because she’s pretty and blonde, and she’s got terrific boobs?”

“Those are your criteria for a sexual partner, not mine. Dean, I just got finished telling you that I do not judge potential partners on physical criteria. Don’t you ever _listen?”_

“Not if I can help it.” Dean shrugs. “So look around. Who’s got a soul here you find attractive?”

Cas lifts his intense blue gaze from Dean, and looks around the bar. The place is half-empty, but he carefully studies every patron in turn. At last he turns back to Dean.

“You do,” he says simply.

Dean almost falls off his stool. “Say what?”

“Your soul is the most beautiful soul in this room,” Cas says, his voice soft, his eyes sincere and almost... adoring? No, it can't be. But he can hear adoration in Cas' voice, too. Jesus. “In fact, it is the most beautiful soul I have ever seen, and I have seen many. If I had to choose any soul on Earth to merge with… it would be yours.”

Dean stares at him, his beer forgotten. In his head, gears clash and grind as he tries to make sense of that.

“Dude,” he says at last. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you dragged me out of Hell. Where I _tortured_ people. Where I enjoyed hurting them. My soul isn’t beautiful. It's been dragged through flames and dirt and blood, and it's a filthy, ugly mess.”

“You survived something so terrible that most people would have been shredded to pieces, and you emerged stronger than before,” Cas says, and his voice is gentle. “It is a testament to the strength of your soul that despite all you suffered through, it was still sufficiently intact for me to lift it from perdition.”

“Yeah, but I…” Dean doesn’t know what to say. The idea that Cas finds his soul, of all the souls on Earth, beautiful, makes him want to weep in gratitude at the same time it makes him long to hide under his stool in embarrassment. He's confused, befuddled, and it's not just the alcohol that's messing with his mind here. The two of them were talking about angel sex, and… and...

And now it turns out Cas wants to do the angel nasty with _him,_ of all people? 

He thinks he’s probably redder than Cas ever managed. He's confused and freaked out, but he's also strangely intrigued by the notion that Cas thinks his soul is beautiful. He thinks Cas is one mixed-up sonofabitch, but even so, he's flattered beyond belief. He doesn't feel drunk any more. He feels alert, wired with anticipation.

“So,” he says at last. His voice is a raw whisper. “What is this grace merging thing like, anyway?”

*****

They’re sitting in the Impala, because Cas suggested that it was safest to try this in private. Ordinarily Dean would’ve suggested the motel room, but Sammy’s probably back there with his redhead, and Dean doesn’t want to walk in on that.

And he sure as hell doesn’t want Sammy to walk in on _this._ Whatever _this_ is.

 _Angel sex,_ he thinks numbly. _I agreed to have angel sex with Cas._

Ordinarily the thought of having sex with a guy—well, someone who looks like a guy—would send him running for the hills. Dean Winchester isn't gay. He's not even bi. He’s as straight as an arrow, and always has been. But this isn’t sex, exactly, and Cas isn’t a guy, precisely, and…

Well, it’s _Cas._ There's no denying Cas means a hell of a lot to him. They've been through Hell together, quite literally, and they've gone through a lot of other shit, too. He's closer to Cas than anyone on the planet except Sam. Anyway, he reasons, Cas could have taken a pretty female vessel just as easily, if he’d happened across Jimmy Novak’s sister first, and Dean wouldn’t have had a problem with this then, would he? Which means it’s irrational to freak out about it just because Cas is wearing a guy. Cas is… Cas.

And besides, Cas _needs_ this. He remembers the unmistakable ache of longing he’d heard in Cas’ voice earlier. Dean sympathizes, because he knows what it's like to be lonely, to need companionship and not be able to find it. Cas hasn’t exactly been popular in Heaven lately, and Dean can easily imagine none of the angels want anything to do with him, so it's no surprise if he’s the angelic equivalent of horny.

Anyway… Dean is curious. He can’t deny that. He’s always been interested in trying new things, exploring new sexual experiences, and _an ecstatic union of two merging into one_ sounds kind of hot, in a weird, inhuman way.

Cas reaches for him, slowly, carefully, and his hand cradles Dean's cheek. He leans forward, and slowly presses his forehead against Dean’s. For a moment, Dean feels nothing, and he’s a little disappointed to realize that whatever it is angels do between themselves apparently doesn't work with humans. But then…

Something brushes against him, deep inside. He gives a startled yelp, and jerks backward.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says. He looks as startled as Dean, and he's breathing harder than usual. “I didn’t mean to—that was more abrupt than I intended. I apologize.”

“It was just…” Dean thinks about the sensation, the feeling of something alien so deep inside him, and he shivers a little. “I wasn’t expecting it to feel quite like that.”

“I know. There is no human equivalent, no way to tell you in advance how it will feel. I can only show you.” Cas reaches for him again, and after a second’s hesitation, Dean turns his cheek into the warm palm. They lean against each other again, foreheads touching, and Dean braces himself.

This time the brushing sensation is much gentler, insubstantial, like mist eddying into him. He hardly feels it at first, but slowly it builds inside him, warm and soft and gentle. It feels good—not ecstatic by any means, but pleasant. It feels like stretching out in a soft bed after a long day, like sitting on the floor in front of a roaring fire after you come in from the cold, like driving the Impala down back roads while listening to Zeppelin. It feels like home.

 _That’s Cas,_ he thinks, reaching for it, wanting more of it. 

More of the mist settles inside him, and slowly, he begins to lose himself, drowning in the warmth, letting it surround him, fill him. It’s as if Cas is wrapping himself around Dean, sinking into him. He is becoming Cas and Cas is becoming him, and it feels so good he can’t quite imagine how he ever survived being alone, being merely Dean Winchester.

It isn’t ecstatic, precisely, but he likes it. He likes it a lot. He feels safe, cradled in protection, like Cas has wrapped his wings around him, shielding him. He is only barely aware of the physical world around them, but he is conscious of pressing up against Cas' body harder. They’ve dropped their heads and buried their faces in each other’s shoulders, and their arms are tight around each other. Anyone who passed by the Impala and saw them would think they were making out.

And in a way, Dean supposes, they are.

He reaches for Cas mentally, emotionally, asking wordlessly for more, and Cas gives it to him. The warmth is slowly transmuting into heat, the sensations of safety and home shifting into something more urgent, something hungry, _needy._ Cas is sinking deeper into him, into places he didn’t know he had, dark, shadowy corners of his soul that have never been touched. It’s so intimate it almost hurts, and yet it feels so good that Dean is vaguely aware that he’s moaning. And so is Cas.

He’s glad to know he’s giving Cas some semblance of what he needs, what he longs for. Maybe this isn’t the same as two angels getting it on, but it’s intense and hot and pleasurable, and Cas is definitely enjoying it. 

He pushes his way toward Cas, groping mentally for the other presence inside him, and Cas gives a startled gasp, as if he hadn’t expected Dean to push toward him. Like he figured Dean was the bottom. As if. Dean pushes harder, trying to wrap himself around Cas the way Cas is wrapped around him, and Cas responds with a rush of heat and delight that would knock Dean on his ass, if he weren’t already sitting.

He can almost hear Cas in his head, begging wordlessly. _Yes… again… yes…_

He pushes harder, and then he’s sliding into Cas’ essence—his grace, he supposes it is—and it’s so hot it burns, but in a good way. A very good way. He’s deep into Cas and Cas is deep into him, and it’s so intensely pleasurable he isn’t sure he can stand it. It is _glorious,_ so much better than sex or alcohol or drugs, so much better than anything he’s ever experienced, and he thinks he’s crying out, but he isn’t sure of anything because his mind and his soul are filled with Cas.

They both strain toward one another, striving for a complete merging of their selves, and then—

Dean has no words to describe what happens next. It’s light and heat and rapture and purity, ecstasy beyond anything this world has to offer, joy and delight and laughter. He can't possibly describe the sensation. All he knows is that he and Cas are suspended together for a brief instant that is also an eternity, twined around each other tightly, threaded through each other in an intricately woven tangle. They're a single entity that has been broken apart for so long, aching for something it didn't even know it had lost, but which now has found itself seamlessly melded back together again. He is Cas, and Cas is him. 

For an endless, breathless moment, there is nothing in the world except pure white light and scalding heat and a tremendous surge of electric pleasure.

When he comes back to himself, he’s collapsed against the black vinyl seat of the Impala, shuddering, gasping for breath. Cas is in his arms, trembling, limp, his face buried in Dean’s chest, his dark hair damp with sweat. Dean thinks he was probably screaming, because his throat is raw and sore, but he doesn’t remember it. He doesn’t remember a damn thing except how fucking _perfect_ it was to merge with Cas.

“So,” he says, trying for snark. His voice wobbles, undermining the effect. “Angel sex is better than human sex. Who knew?”

Cas laughs, breathless. “It is not usually that intense,” he says, his grace still moving softly inside Dean, brushing against him in gentle pulses. Dean presumes those are angelic kisses. “Not that… profound.”

“But it was like that because of our… bond.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it is just that we mingled my grace with your human soul. I suspect that feels somewhat different from the normal angelic method.” Cas lifts his head, looking thoughtful. “I could test that hypothesis further by experimenting with the bartender…”

“Don’t you _dare,_ ” Dean growls, and he knows from the way Cas’ eyes crinkle at the corners that he’s being teased. He wraps his arms around Cas, holding him tightly, and feels more of those angelic grace-kisses brushing him from the inside.

He likes being kissed that way. He likes it a lot. Even so, he decides it’s a good time to show Cas the way humans kiss, and how awesome _that_ can feel.

Cas doesn’t seem to object in the slightest.


End file.
